


Recognition

by bonneaux



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13626396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonneaux/pseuds/bonneaux
Summary: This is the missing scene at the end of the finale episode of season 4 between Jessie and Tommy. Or, how they got from the office to the bed.





	Recognition

When Jessie hung up the phone after arranging the meeting between Tommy and Casey Sparks, her back was to him. The way he had been staring at her as she took the phone out of his hand, when she gave him the contact he wanted - it was too much. She had to look away. 

There was the sadness in him that drew her in. And she knew he saw the sadness in her as well. That jolt of recognition between them that she first felt in her room when she showed him the picture of Greta Jerossy. When he told her knew about her lover’s suicide. They could see it in the other person and they couldn’t help themselves but hurt each other, touch each others’ bruises to watch the reaction. They couldn’t stop but they couldn’t stay away either. 

He put his hand on her shoulder and using his low, soothing voice said, “Let’s go, eh?” She nodded and took the hand he offered. He locked his office and then led her out of the empty factory and the three blocks to a flat two stories up. He smoked as they walked and every so often offered the cigarette to share. She felt sharp and on edge, the smoke giving her something to do with her hand and helping her to remember to breathe. She wanted this. She wanted him. 

Was he conning her to get to the Socialists? Was he a believer? Was he using her for a fuck? Who was using whom? When she looked into his eyes, she thought she saw something real. Then again, this is what he does. This is what she was warned about. 

And yet, his eyes. 

His voice in her ear. 

When they entered the apartment, he went to the fireplace, crouched down and worked to get the flame to catch. She stayed by the door, slowly taking of her hat and coat. His back was to her. She felt hot, prickly. She couldn’t bear the idea of the next few minutes. Would he ask her to dance again? Most of all, she didn’t want to talk anymore. She didn’t want to know if he was lying. She didn’t want to banter or fight. She didn’t want to flirt. 

The heat rose up her throat and her cheeks burned. She walked over to the bed and sat on it, took her shoes off. She placed them neatly next to the edge of the bed and started to unbutton her blouse. Forget the banter or dancing. She just wanted him over her. She wanted to close her eyes feel his weight above her. 

When he turned from the fire, he let out a startled cough. “Slow down there, love.” He stood up and stalked over to her, taking off his overcoat on the way. He tossed his coat onto the chair and stood over her on the bed. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made it hard to believe that he was a liar, a man of violence. 

She stilled her hands in her lap and kept her eyes down. This is why they were here, right? She felt stupid, silly, like a little girl. 

“I haven’t -” she started but couldn’t finish. Took a breath. “In a long time, it’s been - “

Before she could finish, he knelt down on the floor and looked up at her, taking her hands in his. “Okay,” he said. “However you want.” She raised her eyes to look at him and when their eyes met, that jolt of recognition started low in her belly and then exploded up to her throat. She closed her eyes and leaned down to kiss him. He stood on his feet as the kiss deepened, moving slowly, like she was a wild animal that might startle. He put one knee between her knees on the bed as she scooted back, not breaking the kiss. As he leaned over her, he quickly took of his suit jacket then settled his weight on her. 

They stayed like this for a while, kissing kissing until she was breathless. Her blouse partly unbuttoned, all of his clothes on. Touching, moving against each other, his hands on her face, her chin, moving down her body. Finally, she moved to start to undress him, unbuttoning his shirt. He let out a heavy exhale and his hands worked her buttons, both of them squirming against the other to get their arms out of the sleeves. He quickly removed her skirt and deftly had her naked before she had gotten past the top button of his trousers. He had kicked his socks and shoes off somehow. When she tried to unzip him, he shifted, whispered, “Let me,” and then slowly moved his hand between her legs. She inhaled sharply and opened her eyes. His eyes were looking down, watching his own hand move inside of her. She tilted her chin back and let go. Let herself let go. 

“Tommy,” she whispered, tight against him. “Please.”

“Yes,” he whispered, his lips on her ear. He was naked too in a moment, moving over her, inside her, looking at her. Again, it was too much. He was looking at her, looking in her eyes but she had to shut down. She closed her eyes, tilted her chin up, and wrapped her legs around him. 

It didn’t matter what he was or what he wanted in the end. He saw the sadness in her and she in him. She put her hand on the back of his head and breathed in. Maybe it would just be right now. Maybe he would give her name to the authorities and she would rot in jail. Maybe he would lead the revolution and they would stand together with the workers. All of that floated away as she let herself rock against him, felt him let go underneath her. 

He let out a sigh next to her, rubbing a finger on his forehead. She looked at the ceiling, that prickly feeling coming back over her skin. She wanted to roll over to him, trace the tattoo on his chest with her finger. And her lips. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t. She rolled over and out of the bed and began to dress.


End file.
